King Henry VI.

Duke of Gloster, Uncle to the King, and Protector. Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent of

France.

Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, Great Uncle to the King.

Henry Beaufort, Great Uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards Cardinal.

John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset; afterwards Duke. Richard Plantagenet, eldest Son of Richard, late Earl

of Cambridge; afterwards Duke of York.

Earl of Warwick.

Earl of Suffolk.

Earl of Salisbury.

Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury.

John Talbot, his Son.

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.

Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer.

Sir John Fastolfe. Sir William Lucy.

Sir William Glansdale. Sir Thomas Gargrave.

Mayor of London.

Woodville, Lieut. of the Tower.

Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction,
Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Faction.

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.
Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Alençon.
Governor of Paris. Bastard of Orleans.
Master-gunner of Orleans, and his Son.
General of the French Forces in Bourdeaux.
A French Sergeant.

A Porter.

An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle.

Margaret, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards married to King Henry. Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc.

Countess of Auvergne.

Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and several Attendants, both on the English and French.

SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France.

SCENE I. WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.

Dead March. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth discovered, lying in State; attended on by the Dukes of BEDFORD, GLOSTER, and EXETER; the EARL of WARWICK, the BISHOP of WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c.

Bed. HUNG be the heavens with black, yield day to Comets, importing change of time and states, [night! Brandish crystal tresses in the sky; And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, That have consented unto Henry's death! Henry the fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

Glo. England ne'er had a king, until his time; Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams; His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies, Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech : He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquer'd.

Exe. We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in [blood?

Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately presence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What! shall we curse the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magic verses have contriv'd his end?

Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day
So dreadful will not be, as was his sight.
The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.
Glo. The church! where is it? Had not churchmen
[pray'd,

His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom, like a school-boy, you may overawe.
Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector;
And lookest to command the prince, and realm.
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
More than God, or religious churchmen, may.

Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.

Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in

peace!

Let's to the altar:-Heralds, wait on us :-
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms;
Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.
Posterity, await for wretched years,

When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck;
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
And none but women left to wail the dead.-
Henry the fifth! thy ghost I invocate;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils!
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
Than Julius Cæsar, or bright

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all!

Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans,
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's

corse?

Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.
Glo. Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?

If Henry were recall'd to life again,

These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd?
Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money.

Among the soldiers this is muttered,-
That here you maintain several factions;
And whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.
One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third man thinks, without expense at all,
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot:
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.

Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides.
Bed. Me they concern; regent I am of France:-
Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France.
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes,
To weep their intermissive miseries.

Enter another Messenger.

2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mis

France is revolted from the English quite;

chance,

Except some petty towns of no import:
The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;

Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
The duke of Alençon flieth to his side,

Exe. The dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats :Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun.

Enter a third Messenger.

3 Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight,

Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.

Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? 3 Mess. O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon : No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges, They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew: The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agaz'd on him: His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain, And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward ; He being in the vaward (plac'd behind,